I know it's over - still I cling.

by jigsawyouth

Summary:

(I've never written fanfiction before I don't know wtf I'm doing)
yeah so this is strahmrez angst written from the point of view of Strahm after Lindsey dies. it doesn't fit into the timeline right because it's not supposed to take place when she canonically dies cause Strahm is dead by then lol

They gave me her stuff. Her personal effects, they called it. They let her mom look through them first, but she didn't take any. She said she was going through her apartment so I could have the things on her and in her pockets. They handed me a clear paper bag with her name written on it in sharpie.

When I got to my car, I sat there for a long time. I looked at the bag in my lap, then set it in the passenger seat. Five minutes after I got on the highway, I swerved so fast I half thought I was going to get hit by any number of speeding semis. I didn't. In the emergency pulloff zone, I stared at the bag some more. Why did they have to make it clear? I could feel everything boring into my eyes without even looking at it. I unbuckled my seatbelt and twisted around to gently set it in the backseat. Before turning back around, I cover it with my jacket. I twist the rear view mirror so I can't see anything back there. Still sitting in the pulloff zone, I clench my teeth so hard I half think they're gonna crack from the pressure.

I don't know how many times I slammed my fists into the steering wheel. Long past the point of them splitting and starting to bleed, long past the point of them going numb.

A cop car pulls up behind me, lights flashing. He walks up next to me and gestures to roll the window down.

"Excuse me, sir. I had a caller report a man behaving erratically on the side of the highway."

He pauses while he takes in my stained steering wheel and my discolored hands.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm FBI agent Peter Strahm." I weakly pull my badge out of my pocket. He examines it for a second before looking back at me.

"My-" I realize I'm not even sure what to call her. My partner? It was so much more then that. My friend? It was much, much more then that.

"I-" I take a deep breath. "I'm on my way back from the morgue. Picking up some personal affects."

The cop's eyebrows twist with the slightest betrayal of sympathy.

"Go home, Agent Strahm."

He slaps the roof of my car, and walks back to his cruiser. I roll the window back up and wait for him to drive away.

I made it the rest of the way home.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I stare at the bag in my lap once more. They assured me this had already been cleared and all information relating to the investigation was taken already. It still feels wrong to touch it.

The first thing I pull out is her cell phone. Standard issue FBI flip phone. I turn it over in my hands and set it on the bedside table. Next I pull out her wallet. Inside, her credit cards, a few bucks in cash, and a shit ton of change. I'm brought back to the night after our first joint outing investigating Jigsaw, sitting at a sticky, red and white gingham patterned table at some 24 hour diner.

"You know, every time I go to one of these places I wonder if Aunt Betty, or whoever, is actually a real person."

Still not sure what to make of her, her brown eyes and dark hair, her strong features, her honeyed tan skin, I sat in silence for a moment.

"Actually, I think this place is called Grandma Betty's."

"Ah, same difference. They all serve the same greasy food and same cheap coffee." She paused and smiles. "And I live for it."

After we ate, a burger and fries for her and a roast beef sandwich for me, she pointed to my plate.

"Are you gonna eat your pickle?" She raised an eyebrow.

"God, you're really a pickle fan?" I chuckled. My grandparents owned a delicatessen back in New York, and my mom's brother took over when I was a kid. No matter how many times he tried to get me to try the pickles he made in a big barrel behind the counter, I never would. Just the smell of the juice had turned me off them, forever.

"Uh, yes. Give it here!"

I sighed and pushed the plate towards her. "Be my guest."

She grinned. And I couldn't help feeling I wanted to see that grin again.

When the waitress came with the check, we both offered to pay at the same time. While protesting, she took her wallet out of her pocket and slammed it on the table. For whatever reason, the force of it caused probably three dozen pennies to fly out, all over the table, some shooting across landing in my lap, some falling to the floor. We both stared at the mess for a second, made eye contact, and started hysterically laughing.

 

I slowly turn the wallet upside down onto my bedside table. A shit ton of various change falls out. I always said she needed to find a wallet with a zipper so this shit didn't happen, but she was stubborn like that.

I try and unclench my jaw, but I can't stop the pressure in my joints. I didn't realize I was gripping my left hand with my right, but as I unclench my hand blood pools in the indents my fingernails left. I start to brush off the blood and ignore it like I do every other time but I remember what I'm doing, and I don't want to ruin any of her things with the blood that's starting to roll down across my hand, onto the bed, soaking into the sheets.

As I sit on the bathroom floor after bandaging my hand, I wonder how many of these little half-moon shaped scars I have on my body. Most of them you wouldn't be able to see even if you knew what you were looking for. I push my sleeve up to examine my arm. They're practically invisible, but grey, pink, sometimes white crescent moons dot my arms. Sometimes single ones, sometimes in groups of two, sometimes all four. The first time I remember doing it, digging my nails in like that, I was probably nine. There was some school trip I wanted to go on. I begged and begged my mom to let me go but she wouldn't let me. When I asked her why she wouldn't give me an answer. She said it was just because she said so.

That's what made me so angry. Not knowing why. It wasn't so much not being able to go on the trip, it was that she had just dismissed me without a reason. I remember sitting there after she left, shaking and squeezing my arm.

When my mom came back in, I got yelled at again. This time for getting blood on the couch.

I remember this as I stare at the blood on the sheets, already dried into a rusty brown.

I went back to the bag with her things in it. I struggle getting it open, my hands are shaking and the plastic keeps slipping from my fingertips. After a solid minute of struggling, I manage to yank the bag open.

There's not much left in there. I start to put the bag away when I see it. The thin gold chain. I sharply inhale and stare at it open mouthed as I carefully fish it out, letting it hang off my fingers.

 

"What's with your necklace?" I blurted out. I had been wanting to ask her about it since I first met her, but I didn't know how. This probably wasn't the best way, but I just figured this was as good of a time as any. She was about to go on vacation for a couple weeks and I didn't want to lose my chance.

"What do you mean?" She was facing away from me, perched on the far edge of my desk. Her curls bobbed over her shoulder and the corner of her lips curled into a tentative smile as she turned around to look at me.

"I just don't think I've ever seen you without it on. Is it a family heirloom or something?"

She chuckled. "Nah. Well, depends on your criteria for what an heirloom is, actually. My aunt, my mom's sister, gave it to me when I was eight. I don't get to see her much, she lives over in California, so I like thinking of her every time I see it in the mirror. She's the one I'm going to see."

"Yeah, I figured. She live near the beach?"

"Yes, god I'm so excited to see the ocean again." She grins at me.

"I've never been." That's hard to believe for some people, but it was never a priority to me, I guess. I know that it's her favorite place to be, she goes with her mother every year in North Carolina.

"Are you serious?" She looked like the idea of this made her genuinely sad. "I can't believe it. You know, you and me need to go sometime. It's so beautiful, if you've never experienced the ocean you can't quite understand what it's like. I'll have to take you down to where I go at some point."

I rolled my eyes, protested that it wasn't that important.

"Not that important to you, maybe. Important to me! I don't want you to live your life without knowing how amazing it is."

She looked back at me, searching my face to see if I understood how serious she was. Our eyes locked and we both held each other's gaze a little too long. I felt something catch in my chest, some feeling new and foreign to me. I felt my cheeks grow hot and we both looked away, letting out slight chuckles.

Later that night, right before she left, I handed her her coat. It slipped out of my hands and we both reached to catch it. As I tried to fold the arm over so it wouldn't fall again, she tried to do the same thing. Our fingers accidentally linked underneath the hood while the jacket slipped again. We both seemed to realize it at the same time, and we looked at each other again.

She took her coat from me and busied herself with making sure nothing fell out of the pockets while I busied myself tidying up a non-existent mess on the desk.

When she announced that she was heading out for the day, she grinned at me when I told her to have a good time. I smiled back, something that I don't do on purpose very often. She obviously noticed too, and grinned even wider.